“I want to do it right.”
“There’s no right or wrong way.”
“But I’ll bet there’s a difference between right and righter.” She inched up his body and laid her lips against his, whispering, “Teach me the righter way.”
Much later, Dillon gazed down at his bride while she slept peacefully beside him. She was so pretty that it made h
is throat ache with emotion. More than that, she was a beautiful person. Guile, in any of its various forms, was foreign to her.
He was the only man to have possessed her body, and that was a privilege he didn’t take lightly. She had given him her heart and entrusted her love into his safekeeping. She was relying on him to keep her financially and emotionally secure for the rest of her life. The greatest challenge he would ever face was being all that Debra wanted and needed him to be.
In a fierce whisper that cut through the darkness of the still room, he told himself, “Don’t fuck up.”
Chapter Nine
“Mr. Burke, Pilot wants to see you right away.”
Giving a mock salute, Dillon acknowledged the message that the passing secretary had called to him from the doorway of the cubicle office that he shared with three other draftsmen. He tossed down his pencil and covered his mouth with his fist. Behind it, he muttered curses while ignoring the covert glances of his co-workers.
He stood and yanked his jacket off the back of his chair. Without bothering to roll down his shirt sleeves, he shoved his arms into the sleeves of the jacket and strode from the office. It was one of hundreds that comprised the sprawling complex belonging to Pilot Engineering Industries of Tallahassee. The name of the company was misleading, as it had nothing to do with aviation. The construction engineering firm was named after its founder and CEO, Forrest G. Pilot. It was said that Forrest G. was a descendant of the notorious Pontius Pilate and that he had inherited his ancestor’s penchant for crucifixion.
Today, it seemed, Dillon Burke was to be the one executed.
“He’ll be with you presently, Mr. Burke. If you’ll please be seated.” Forrest G. Pilot’s secretary nodded toward a chair in the reception area outside the inner sanctum.
Belligerently, Dillon threw himself into the chair. He was furious with himself for his behavior the day before. Apparently one of Pilot’s spies had reported on Dillon’s vocal criticism. Pilot didn’t like discontent within his ranks. Ideally, his army of drones toiled in their assigned chambers and kept their opinions of his management to themselves. Until yesterday, Dillon had complied with that unwritten policy.
Initially he had felt lucky to be hired by Pilot Industries, which was well known throughout the Southeast. Neither he nor Debra had minded relocating. It had seemed like an extension of their honeymoon. His starting salary hadn’t been terrific, but Dillon had been confident that he could quickly escalate it. He had reasoned that once his supervisors spotted his potential, they would want to keep him happy at the risk of losing him to a competitor. He had envisioned a meteoric rise straight to the top.
It hadn’t worked out that way. The company hired dozens of young engineers fresh from college graduation. None was given an opportunity to advance. Dillon wasn’t playing in the big league and he wasn’t making big money. Debra claimed to be blissfully happy, although Dillon knew she must miss the luxuries her father had lavished on her. She deserved better than their cramped, one-bedroom apartment.
Time seemed to be standing still for him. Daily he grew more impatient. There was so much he wanted to do, and at Pilot Engineering Industries he wasn’t getting to do any of it. He would have quit months earlier if the unemployment rate weren’t so high. Until he had an excellent prospect, he couldn’t afford to lose this job.
The buzzer on the secretary’s desk sounded. “You can go in now, Mr. Burke,” she said with chilly politeness.
Dillon adjusted his necktie as he approached the intimidating door. He grasped the brass knob aggressively and pushed it open.
Pilot set aside the drawing he had been studying and peered at Dillon over the silver frames of his reading glasses, nodding him into a chair on the other side of his desk. Dillon didn’t let Pilot’s stare intimidate him. He waited him out. Finally Pilot said, “I understand you’re unhappy with us, Mr. Burke.”
If he was going to get canned anyway, he had nothing to lose by being honest. Screw Forrest G. Pilot if he didn’t like what he had to say. Debra, he knew, would be the first to back him up for speaking his mind. “That’s right. I am.”
“I like for my employees to be happy. It makes for a more congenial workplace.”
“I didn’t intend to be disruptive. I saw something I didn’t like and expressed my viewpoint, that’s all.”
Pilot removed his glasses and ruminatively polished the lenses with a linen handkerchief. “Why should it upset you that Mr. Greyson was appointed supervising engineer for that medical-clinic project?”
“I wasn’t upset. I was pissed off. I had submitted a formal request to my supervisor for that job. He assured me it would get to your desk.”
“It did.”
“Oh, I see. You passed over me in favor of Greyson.”
“Mr. Greyson has been with the company for ten years. You were hired only last year, straight out of Georgia Tech. Your grades and the sample work you submitted when you applied were impressive enough for us to hire you, but you’re still a rookie.” He spread his hands wide. “Mr. Greyson has more experience.”
“I’ve got more talent.”
Dillon’s immodest candor took the older man by surprise. He barked a short laugh. “And, it would appear, more balls.”